Duilio had another concern to lay before him. “I should warn you, the man who pulled her out of the water wasn’t a fisherman, as I’d originally assumed. It was Paolo Silva.”
That made Joaquim set down his fork. “Silva? Your uncle Silva?”
Duilio was tempted to ask which other Paolo Silva it might be, but there were probably a hundred other men in the city with a name that common. “Yes, him. He told her he’d foreseen that a woman would be in the river in need of rescue, which Miss Paredes obviously was.”
Joaquim shook his head. “No good can come of that.”
“True. I’m worried he’ll try to make a public show of the fact that he ‘rescued’ her,” Duilio admitted. “She can’t afford that sort of attention.”
“Neither can we,” Joaquim pointed out. “Can you keep her hidden from him? If she stays to the house . . .”
Duilio pushed away his plate. “I suspect that if we ask her to sit by and do nothing, Miss Paredes will disappear and go hunting Espinoza on her own.”
“I see,” Joaquim said. “A militant sort, is she?”
Duilio held in a laugh. He didn’t know enough of Miss Paredes to speculate on her relative militancy. Not yet. “She doesn’t strike me as being willing to wait around merely because she’s female, and she knows another house will end up in the river in a week or so.”
Joaquim crossed himself. “Yes. We’ll simply have to work faster.”
Duilio only wished they had more to work with. “Will you tell Captain Santiago that I’m working on a new lead? I’d avoid telling him about Miss Paredes, though. He’d probably want to drag her into the station, and I’m not going to allow that.”
Joaquim cast him a shrewd glance before turning back to his soup. “I’ll be discreet.”
* * *
Oriana sat in her bedroom, a blue silk dress in a mass on her lap. After consulting with Teresa about the state of Oriana’s garments, Felis had picked it from among Lady Ferreira’s out-of-date clothing and ordered Oriana to wear it. Since what remained of her wardrobe wasn’t suitable for a ball, Oriana acquiesced. The waist needed to be taken in and the skirt was too short, but she could add a flounce made from part of the underskirt, alterations that she could easily do herself, since Lady Ferreira was napping. The dress would be presentable but somber, suitable for a companion in a house recently out of mourning.
The window seat on which Oriana perched looked out over the Street of Flowers, giving her an excellent view of the traffic passing the house. It also offered the best light in the room. Working on dark fabric with dark thread was hard on the eyes, but she hated doing nothing.
She leaned forward against the window to get a better view of two men striding along the street. The streets weren’t crowded at this hour, so she got a good look at them as they walked in the direction of the quay. One was a fisherman with gray hair and worn shoes—Heriberto. As he walked down the Street of Flowers, he talked quietly with the Amarals’ footman Carlos.
Oriana shoved the dress off her lap and stepped over the crumpled mass on the floor. Her mitts lay on the table next to the leather settee, so she grabbed those up and slid them on before leaving her room and dashing down the stairs. Cardenas gave her a startled glance when she passed him in the hall. “I’m going out for a few minutes,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”
“May I get you a hat, Miss Paredes?” he asked disapprovingly.
Bother. I am bareheaded. She glanced into the sitting room and spotted Lady Ferreira’s mantilla lying on one of the tables. She grabbed that and settled the comb into her hair, hoping that the lady wouldn’t mind. She tugged the veil forward to cover her face and headed out the door, ignoring Cardenas’ worried eyes.
She hurried down the steps and began walking as quickly as would be seemly. In a couple of minutes, she caught sight of the two men just as they turned down one of the side streets toward the Golden Church of São Francisco. Oriana hopped over a pile of mule dung as she crossed the street a few feet ahead of an approaching tram. She didn’t want to lose them.
Was Heriberto looking for her again? She hated the idea of being caught unawares, as she had when he’d found her before. She needed to know what he was after.
The two men stopped at the corner, forcing her to walk more slowly. There were a few more words said, and then Heriberto dropped a handful of coins into Carlos’ hand. That verified her suspicion that Carlos had spilled her hiding place at his kinswoman’s boarding house. Carlos slipped the coins into his pocket and strolled away toward the quay.
The money changing hands disabused her of any notion that his chat with Heriberto was a coincidence. Perhaps she should go to Heriberto and simply ask him what he was after now.
But once Carlos was out of sight, Heriberto walked around the corner onto Infante Henrique Street and up two levels of steps to reach the terrace in front of the church. Under the rose window, he glanced about and walked over to the stone railing that ran along the side. He leaned on the railing, apparently to wait. For whom?
On the street below, Oriana paused. Surely he would note a veiled woman walking back and forth. While the mantilla was commonly worn during Mass, it was too late in the day for that. She could go inside the church and pretend to pray, but then she wouldn’t learn what he was doing here. If only she’d thought to grab a sketchpad, she could pretend to be drawing the church’s stone facade or rose window.
She hesitated there at the base of the stairs, too long perhaps, because he leaned forward, as if he’d suddenly spotted her. She held her breath, prepared to run, but then realized he was gazing past her. Oriana glanced over her shoulder and felt her throat tighten.
Thank the gods she had the veil to hide her face.
The man striding toward her along São Francisco Street was dressed elegantly, a tall hat on his head and a polished cane in his hand. His frock coat and pinstriped trousers could pass for a gentleman’s garb, although he was actually a businessman. A handsome man in his late forties, he had only a touch of gray at his temples. He passed her with a tip of his hat and walked up the steps to meet Heriberto.
Oriana pressed her hand against her stomach and closed her eyes. Her father hadn’t recognized her, not with a veil hiding her face.
She made up her mind quickly, walking around the edge of the church grounds onto São Francisco Street. She leaned against the wall of the first house before casting a glance back.
It could be a coincidence. That was possible.
She laughed to herself and shook her head. She would have to be an idiot to believe this a coincidence. No, the only reason she could accept for her father to come so far from his home was to meet with the man.
So Heriberto was aware her father lived in the city. She had fervently hoped that he didn’t know, but Nela had commented last night about not divulging information to Heriberto, so apparently the prohibition against communicating with the exiles didn’t apply to him. It had been foolish to hope that her father, with his successful business and human lover, would have escaped Heriberto’s notice.
Then again, it meant that her father dealt with Heriberto on his own. Perhaps all her worries for his sake had been misplaced. She had feared that if Heriberto knew, he might turn her father in to the Special Police. It was the sort of underhanded thing Heriberto would threaten to get his way. But he hadn’t. Why not?
Realizing she’d been in one spot long enough to garner the attention of patrons of the small café, Oriana pushed herself away from the wall. She made up her mind quickly, going up the first flight of steps but not up to the next level to the church. She walked to an inward corner of the wall and paused there, almost directly under where Heriberto stood. She wrung her hands together, hoping she looked like a woman left waiting for a lover who never showed. She held her breath.
“. . . and I wouldn’t tell you if I did,” her father was saying. Snapping, actually. He was angry.
“You will tell me if you hear from her,” Heriberto sai
d flatly, as if he had the upper hand.
“Or what? What more do you want? More money?”
Money? Her father was paying Heriberto? For what?
“I know your secret, Adriano,” Heriberto answered. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about her?”
Oriana took a quick breath and didn’t catch what her father said in response.
“You want to keep your girl safe,” Heriberto said then, derision in his voice, “you’ll do what I say. I know where she lives.” Again, Oriana couldn’t make out her father’s response. Heriberto’s voice reached her ears clearly, though. “If Oriana comes to you, you tell me. You find out where she is, I want to know directly.”
Why was Heriberto suddenly looking for her? On Sunday he’d willingly given her two weeks to report in, yet now he needed to find her? Why so soon? Her father was speaking above her head, but Oriana couldn’t make out anything. She pressed her hands together, pacing again. When she turned in the direction of the café, she noted a woman watching her from one of the tables. The woman didn’t bother to look away when caught staring.
Oriana turned back, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t panic. If she were to run, it would be a sure sign she wasn’t supposed to be there. She doubted she could outrun Heriberto anyway, not in these pinching shoes. So she let her pacing take her back toward the stairwell, losing any chance of overhearing the conversation. The woman was still watching her, but Oriana kept her head down, trying to look . . . troubled. Not difficult at the moment.
She turned as if she’d finally come to some decision and briskly headed back the way she’d come. Even as she walked away, she felt the unknown woman’s eyes on her back.
Her temples throbbed. She’d attracted someone’s attention, something she couldn’t afford to do. The woman must have been watching Heriberto first, and spotted Oriana eavesdropping on his conversation. Who is she?
Oriana glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see anyone in pursuit. The woman was bold enough that she hadn’t even tried to hide her appearance. She had thick brows and very hard eyes in a pale oval face. Dark hair pinned up neatly. Well dressed, but in stern black with a high collar. Her square jaw hinted that she could be a sereia, although something indefinable had been . . . off about her. Oriana would definitely recognize the woman should she see her again.
If the woman was watching Heriberto, the most likely explanation was that she was his superior, perhaps checking up on him. But Oriana had met most of those who currently spied here and in Sintra, to the south, and she was certain she’d never seen that woman before.
CHAPTER 14
Duilio had dropped by the house prior to dinner to return the sketch he’d borrowed from Miss Paredes, only to learn that she’d gone out. Cardenas didn’t approve, of course, but Duilio managed to convince the man that Miss Paredes had gone out to run an errand for him.
Unfortunately, a note from the young boatman, João, prevented him from staying for dinner. Erdano had left a message requesting Duilio’s company, but neglected to tell João the reason. Since Erdano seldom demanded his presence, Duilio thought it best to find out what his selkie half brother had on his mind.
Erdano currently sprawled on the bench at the tavern, watching one of the waitresses. In human form he made a very large man, taller than Duilio by a hand and half again as broad. They didn’t resemble each other much, save about the eyes. He didn’t look back to Duilio when he said, “Tigana says Aga saw a woman on the water, a woman with webbed hands, so she sent her to you.”
“Yes,” Duilio said, not bothering to mentally untangle that sentence. “Tell Aga I appreciate her acuity, please.”
Erdano cast a perplexed look at him then, heavy brows drawing together in an exaggerated fashion.
Poor choice of words. Erdano didn’t read or write. Erdano’s father hadn’t seen any use for such things, and had won out over their mother’s urgings. Sometimes Duilio forgot that. “I appreciate that Aga was paying such close attention,” he clarified. “The woman with the webbed hands will be very helpful to my investigation.”
“Oh.” Erdano took another swig of his beer and licked his lips. “She’s a sereia, right? Is she pretty?”
Conversations with Erdano always followed this course. His brother had numerous females in his harem, but was perpetually eager to add more. “Yes,” Duilio admitted reluctantly. “She’s attractive.”
In the corner a woman sang about the old days when the Portuguese had conquered the world, accompanied by a man strumming a guitar. Erdano could find this sort of establishment as if he sensed them with his whiskers: crowded and a little run-down, excellent fish soup, salted cod served on platters of questionable cleanliness, plenty of beer, and appealing girls. Vastly different from the café Duilio had visited with Joaquim that morning.
Duilio glanced at the waitress his half brother watched so avidly, a petite but buxom girl with dark hair and eyes that tilted upward. She wended her way gracefully through the crowded room with a tray perched on one hand. Erdano didn’t seem to prefer a specific type of woman; they all interested him. And even dressed in a set of rarely washed clothes and with his long hair uncombed, Erdano attracted them in turn. Women seemed to find him irresistible. Selkie charm, Duilio thought wryly.
“What are her markings like?” Erdano asked.
It took a second for Duilio to mentally chase down what Erdano meant. Sereia markings were said to mimic one predatory fish or another—tuna in this part of the world—which hinted that Miss Paredes would have a black or blue dorsal stripe. Duilio sorely wished he’d gotten a look at her backside, but she’d managed to remain facing him. Now his mind burned with curiosity that he suspected wasn’t ever going to be satisfied.
He tried to sound dismissive. “I didn’t see her dorsal markings.”
Erdano regarded him with a surprised expression. “You haven’t bedded her yet?”
Duilio clenched his jaw, holding in his growing irritation. Given her sudden introduction into the household, some of the servants had assumed that motivation on his part as well. According to his valet, Marcellin, picking Alessio’s bedroom for her only fueled that speculation. Fortunately, while they might talk among themselves, the servants would never spread such rumors beyond the house. “She’s in my employ now, Erdano.”
Erdano craned his neck to get a better view of his waitress. “No, then?”
His reluctance about discussing Miss Paredes with Joaquim had involved his guilt over walking in on her nude in the bath. He didn’t want to discuss her with Erdano for fear of exciting his half brother’s interest in her. “It’s inappropriate,” he said. “Besides, I don’t know how long she’ll be here.”
“You should go ahead and bed her now, then,” Erdano said. “No sense waiting.”
Duilio let out a laugh, amused out of his annoyance. There were times when Erdano’s simplistic view of life had its advantages. “That’s why you’re going to end up with a kitchen knife in your back someday, Erdano.”
His half brother laughed. “No woman would ever hurt me.”
To be truthful, Erdano did have a talent for finding women who didn’t seem to mind sharing him. “Her husband, then,” Duilio said. “I’ll keep my distance from Miss Paredes.”
“Your loss.” Erdano grinned at the waitress, who returned a saucy wink. “She hasn’t come back. Are you bedding her?”
Duilio stared across the table at him, trying to follow that logic. “Who?”
Erdano blinked at him, head tilting to one side. “Aga. Tigana gave her to you, and she hasn’t come back. That’s why I wanted to see you.”
Duilio had qualms about Erdano’s casual way of referring to members of his harem like they were possessions, but as he didn’t live in Erdano’s world, he chose not to comment. “Aga didn’t stay with me. Do you want me to look for her?”
Erdano shrugged. “She has to leave the harem eventually, but . . .”
“Wait . . . why does she have to leave?”
/>
“She’s one of my father’s get,” Erdano said, as if that were patently obvious.
Duilio wished his mother were more aware of things about her, so he could ply her with questions about the rules inside a selkie harem. Evidently there were more than he knew. He’d never considered before what happened to all of Erdano’s half sisters once their father died. “I’ll see if I can find out what happened to her.”
Erdano nodded briskly. “Thanks.”
Erdano rarely came to him with a problem, so Duilio didn’t mind pursuing the inquiry. Besides, he had a good idea where to start. Aga was likely at João’s small apartment on the quay near the Ferreira boats. If Erdano had thought to ask João directly, Duilio probably could have just stayed home and talked with Miss Paredes all evening. Duilio dropped a handful of coins on the table to cover the tab, slid off the bench, and clapped his half brother’s shoulder. “Come on back to the house.”
With a dramatic sigh, Erdano joined him and headed toward the door. “I’ll have to come back for Eva later, I guess.”
Eva must be the petite waitress. “Mother would like to see you,” Duilio reminded him.
He waited on the threshold as Erdano mouthed something at the pretty girl, to which she nodded. And then a twinge hit him, a brief instant of premonition.
His blood roaring in his ears, Duilio sprang forward. He shoved Erdano over as a gunshot rang through the crowded room. Fragments of wood sprayed in all directions when a bullet hit the doorpost where he’d stood.
Amid the screams of the patrons, Duilio landed atop Erdano on the tavern floor. Everything seemed to move more slowly about him as he pushed away from his brother. He heard a second click, but nothing happened. Had the gun jammed? He couldn’t pinpoint the direction the sound had come from. His own breath sounded harsh in his ears now.
He was an easy target there on the floor. That realization sent cold rushing through his body. He rolled to one side to get back to his feet.
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